


Only For A Moment Chapter 4

by The_Word_Witch



Series: Only For A Moment [4]
Category: Bucky Barnes - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, F/M, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 23:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16881624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Word_Witch/pseuds/The_Word_Witch
Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?





	Only For A Moment Chapter 4

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: PTSD, imprisonment.

“Fuck, fuck, FUUUCK,” you mumble as you pace back and forth. The few pictures in the slim volume had only confirmed even further that the man chained to your wall is indeed, a 98-year-old POW. And whether he’s spent all this time willfully or playing for the wrong team or not there’s no way to know

If this is Hydra trying to trick you they’ve gone to extraordinary lengths. He (or someone) has filled the book with notes. Crossing out bits and scribbling ‘FALSE’ over them. Highlighting areas and noting, ‘True? Don’t know.’ on some. On the portion dedicated to his life before the war, you notice, “Fuck Lombardi's, Totonno’s was the best,” and you hurled the book across the room.

The first apartment you and Nix shared in Brooklyn was in Gravesend off 86th. It was a dump but it was yours. And every single payday you’d carb load on Totonno’s and take some home before getting properly wasted like only two urchins such as yourselves could. You may be in the big city (technically) but you were just trailer trash kids at heart with your malt liquor and cheap bourbon. Your stomach growled at the thought of a hot perfect slice of Totonno’s and your eyes stung with tears.

You had been so sure this was a trap. But what if you were wrong? What if he didn’t wake up? What if you killed a man who didn’t deserve it…? But... he _was_ The Soldier. He’d done unspeakable things. If you killed him was it really undes- if you thought that what did _you_ deserve. “Fuuuuuuuuck!” you shout and press the balls of your hands into your eyes.

A low sound. A sigh? A groan? Regardless it’s coming from behind you where the Soldi-Jame- where HE is.

You spin on your heel and without you even fully forming a command the weapons on the table surround you. The Glock cocks ready to go, the knives swaying a bit but still pointed at him. You don’t move don’t breathe and he squirms.

For a second he’s panicked. Thrashing and growling. More animal than man and you grit your teeth as you hear the pipes creak and some plaster dusts his dark mop of hair. But then he’s still. So still he seems like an art installation. Something inhuman. His head bowed hair concealing his face. You aren’t sure how long you wait. A minute, five? It feels like an eternity before you slowly you side step to be directly in front of him. The weapons moving in perfect unison with you.

He doesn’t lift his head just moves those eyes to meet yours. At first, they are shards of ice bearing into you but then they seem to melt. There’s that sadness you’d seen earlier and maybe… kindness.

_The memory floods your brain against your will. You can feel a rib crack and though you want to throw your assailant across the room you just… can’t. Your power refusing your silent command. You’ve braced yourself for another blow, the beatings never stop until you black out and they can always tell when you’re faking. But the kick doesn’t come. Over the loudspeaker, a man says in rage laced Russian, “What the fuck are you doing Soldier?! Did we say stop?!” You open your eyes and look up. You have to know what’s coming next even if it’s terrible. Instead, you’re met with a look you haven’t seen in so long. One of concern of… kindness-_

A knife to your right clatters to the ground and you push the memory aside. Stay focused or you’re going to end up dead.

“I know you, don’t I?” his voice is hoarse. You don’t answer. He lifts his head relieving some of the pressure from the pipe on his neck. He looks at the pipes wrapped around his arms, the fencing on his legs, “You know me… That’s pretty obvious.” Again you don’t say anything. A wan smile rises to his lips, “And if you know me, or think you know me, I know there’s nothing I can say to convince you that I’m not… I… I’m not… Him.” His face crumples and a bit of your resolve goes along with it, just enough to send another knife clattering to the floor.

“Look, don-don’t panic and shoot me, but I’m just going to-” the fingers of the metal hand clench into a fist and he yanks his arm straight down, the copper pipes snap like rubber bands, the stud only groans in protest. You step back quickly, your calves hitting the bed. Your mind curiously blank. He stops, holds up his hand in submission. “I know words don’t mean shit,” he breaks the pipe at his neck and rubs the red flesh there for just a moment. “But before I do this,” he links a metal finger through the pipes on his right wrist, “I want you to know I’m not here to hurt you, for whatever that’s worth, I do _not_ want to hurt you.” He holds your gaze for a minute as if waiting for a response, you give him nothing.

He said he didn’t want to hurt you, not that he wouldn’t. That difference didn’t go unnoticed. He didn’t _want_ to hurt you but that didn’t mean he wouldn't do so under orders. On the other hand, it was only fair since you would hurt him, had already. And you realize that just as you can’t be certain of him he can’t be certain of you either. If he knows you, recognizes you, then it’s as a Hydra trainee and nothing more.

He’s already ripped through the chain link and is breaking the pipes at his ankles. Once free he stands. Too quickly for you. It’s not the gun that goes off nor do the knives shoot toward him. Those things stay suspended in between you, your small shield. No, your power slams him into the wall of its own accord. You don’t feel panic just strength. You’re not sure how long you can pin him but the look of surprise is enough. He knows you’ve got muscle now, knows you aren’t an easy hit. You will not go quietly.

His hands are up in that universal gesture of surrender. “I’m so sorry, that was dumb, I didn’t… think.” You let him hang there, pressing him until you can hear the plaster crack behind him. Then you release. He takes a deep breath. “Here,” his hands still up, eyes locked to yours he sinks to the floor and sits cross-legged. “Again, I don’t want-“

“To hurt me. I get it,” you snarl. Something flashes in him so quick you may have imagined it but he seems pleased to have gotten a response. Recognizing you’re not interested in his assurances he only nods before his eyes fall to the backpack and its contents strewn across the bed.

His demeanor shifts immediately. He’s not the cold calculating soldier, not the man trying to convince you of his lack of murderous intent either. This is a desperate man. “Please,” his voice cracks then the words tumble in a rush, “if you will just give me my bag and books I swear I’ll leave you alone. I promise. Please just give me those and you will never see me again. Don’t. Please don’t take them I need-“

“I’m not going to take your fucking journals man.” Your gut is telling you he’s for real. This man, whoever he is, was not sent by Hydra. The rumors must be true. The Winter Soldier, Hydra’s pride and joy, is running. 


End file.
